Wounds
Crew Lounge (DCV Faux) - LDF Faux - --------------------------------------------------------------------------- This open area gives the crew plenty of room to stretch their legs, lounge about and take their meals. The front is an open space with dark green carpeting set with couches and chairs to allow people to watch the holovid, play video games or just relax and read a book. Off to one side, a punching bag and a mat give the crew a place to exercise and keep in shape along with a bench set in the corner for use with a series of adjustable tension weight training cables. The back half of the room is comprised of the kitchen and dining area with a large table with chairs separated from the cooking area by a counter lined with stools. A single narrow window runs the length of the wall, helping to give the room a more spacious feel. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Thu Sep 06 00:31:23 3007 Stars drifts in - late. Of course. Shucking his jacket again as he goes. "Demarr. You two alrright?" Rathenhope has found himself a nice comfy seat. Where he is sitting. Actually crying very quietly. Aadzrian comes wandering in, and the first thing he does- as messy as he is- is take out a PDA from his pocket, evidently reclaimed from wherever his armors and weapon came. He types rather slowly, getting blood on the keyboard, and then hitting send after a brief message. Stars hangs that coat over a massive arm... and, oddly enough, moves to Rathenhope - his deep voice almost a purr. "Easy." A heavy paw comes out to rest on the man's shoulder - "brreathe." Rkagar has his helmet in his hand running a rough tounge over it. And what is he licking up you ask? Why Green Zangali blood. There happens to be a very blank and distant look in his yellow eyes. "Why do you cries?" It's a quiet, almost academic question from that blood-soaked Timonae, as Aadzrian looks up over the top of the PDA clinically. He's making sure not to lean on the walls, and is just standing near one... almost absently. Snowstreak darts in, demeanor completely different then it was before as he looks around for the injured. His tail twinges again behind him as he takes in a sharp breath and then mrruffs "Alright, how was he injured? The more information the better." Better to know if he was, say, hit with any kind of fragmentary or explosive point ammo now, right? Swiftfoot strides in from the corridor, this time simply -carrying- Nixkamich with her. She heads toward the bunk room, her gait nothing if not purposeful. She doesn't pause to give any greetings of any sort, nope. Get the Qua to the bunk room. Simple. Straightforward. And as fast as she can. Ace strips off her combat armor, pulling on her sunglasses as she straightens, "Nixkamich is injured...so are you Rkagar. Let the doctors have a look at you, da?" she says softly. "Back in there," she points to the bunkroom. There are no more complaints from Nix anymore. No more protests. He is simply slumped in Swifty's arms and carried off into the next room. Rathenhope blinks up at Stars, and then over to Aadzrian. He quickly attempts to wipe it all away. Not expecting people. Nope. "I'm fine," he says, taking a shuddering breath. "Just.. not quite expecting to be alive right now." Iallanni follows the others, zooming by in her chair to the bunkroom. Sinopa rushes in behind Swifty and Nix, tears streaming down her cheeks as she continues on after them. Rkagar looks up from his helmet and shakes his head. "No my blood." He says flattly and starts to slurp more of the green blood down. Aadzrian blinks at that, dazedly. "Oh. ...T'anks you," he says quietly, to the whole room, wincing at the sight of a crying Sinopa's passage. Rkagar catches his eye, and the Timonae suddenly starts to laugh- quietly, sharply. "Looks at us. Looks at us. You done so mush, risking so mush, for -us-. We ship of madmen." "Yeah." Stars crouches - tail balancing behind - bringing those yellow eyes closer to level with Rath's. "funny thing, how it sneaks up on you." A glance up at the bunkroom door, then back. "You want to talk, I'm arround." That's.. oddly compassionate, from the merc. A flash of teeth - likely something meant to be friendly... and then he stands smoothly. "Yeah. Wait 'till you see what you get next. Therre's a frresherr on this ship that fits thrree of /me/." Ace shrugs at Rkagar, "Good, then," she says, letting the whole blood-drinking thing go for the moment. "Should have come sooner," she replies to Aadzrian, shaking her head, "Am sorry we let this go on for so long." She nods at Stars words, "You are all welcome to use the showers, will put on some tea and is good to know you have such confidence in us, Tom," she adds with a wry grin. Rathenhope shakes his head. "I'm fine. Honest." He starts to giggle then, the laugh of someone trying to convince himself it's all real. it only seems to get louder as he goes. "You're telling -me-. Did we really just storm a crime lord's casino on TeeKay of all the fucking places in the galaxy to rescue -three- people?" he chuckles near insanely. "Really? Half a dozen of us?" Green blood stained teeth flash in a merry roar of laughter. The young Zangali moves over to the Timonae with a singular purpose. A gloved finger over his chest and starts to paint bloody pictographs on his face. Rkagar looks a bit dazed but happy in a 'I just lost my mind' kind of way. Aadzrian is already bedecked in enough bits you don't want to look too closely at, so this is really a terribly messy prospect. Not that the Timonae seems to mind, laughing with Rkagar rather stupidly in return and putting up with the painting. "A fresher," he gasps between peals, "a shower. T'ink it washing off, Rkagar? T'ink it?" His fingers are a bit shaky as he types- slooowly. Stars looks to Ace - oddly enough, something in her words getting a strange nod from the big merc... and with a grunt, Stars starts peeling off flak. "Yeah. but we went to kill herr, too. And to leave an imprression. I think we can call that a prretty damned rrousing success." He pauses.. glancing again to Ace. "yeah. Prretty damned good." His attention turns to the bunkroom door. "it looked bad, ace. How bad was it?" Ace seems remarkably calm and collected for a woman who just moments ago was dressed in blood-splattered combat armor and helping to lay waste to a casino and its staff. She puts on two kettles of water as she replies, "Last time I laid waste to a crime lord and his place of business on TK, was by myself. This time? This time it was much easier thanks to all of you. Aadzrian, should have the doctors have a look at you, da?" She looks over at Stars, "From what I saw, he will live...have seen much worse. Tom and I, we tried to give him cover but the way he was swinging around that gun, it made him very much a target." Rathenhope shakes his head. "I'm fine, was wearing the armour," he says, still grinning. He blinks as his PDA goes off. As he retrieves it, he grins up at Ace. "Hell, Ace, there's no finer crew I could commit suicide with when it comes down to it." He blinks again as he reads the message off. "Gods I'm in deep shit," he murmurs. "..Ruin's going to tie me up for months just so I can't go anywhere like this again." Rkagar glances over to the fresher and rolls his shoulders. "No care no thing." He replies with a toothy grin and starts to shead his blood stained armor on the floor without a second thought. "Yeah, well, get blood on ourr floorr, and you'll mop it." Stars chuffs - "Go wash that off in the bay - and don't poke rrazorrback." The big cat flashes a toothy grin... then moves for the hatch leading to the bridge. "Ace?" He pauses - and growls softly to her - " "Tthhhfft mralla Grwawwl wroWall Tthhhfft m'Mroowll Sssiipft raWll Grwawwl raWll" " "No one look at me," Aadzrian states to Ace, rather firmly, though he's still half-grinning in weird, confused delight. "I needs go. I needs go somewhere. I having to goes. When we landing. No time for showers- no time. Wils to be t'anking you when cans, but I has to -seeing- him," he explains... rather incoherently. "No -time-. Has to knowing how it be." "Spaciba, Tom," Ace says again, "Could not have pulled this off without you and if you wish," she adds to Aadzrian, "Can have Tirax meet us on Demaria, but think he would prefer you showered and having your injuries tended to." She nods to Stars as she continues to bustle around the galley, "Will be there in a moment to land the ship." Rathenhope nods slowly, then sighs. "I'm gonna have to run as well. Ruin and Leodh are going to -kill- me for making them worry, and I'd rather get back there before they come up with something inventive." Rkagar shrugs and picks up the pieces of armor. "Be back." He says and starts off without another word. Stars pauses at the door, looking back to Rath. "... Invite them to the parrty." As though it were the most obvious thing in the world - "Forr once, we should prrobably celebrrate living." He looks to Aadz. "goes forr you too. Demarria's safe grround, with a good shuttle. Invite him." And with that, stars moves off to the hall. "He waitings for me," says Aadzrian, quietly. "He no know wat I is looked liking now." And then the Timonae blinks slowly, sudden realization spreading across his face. "...Razorback..." Without another word of explanation, he turns and strides out. Loading Bay (DCV Faux) --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Massive and designed for maximum efficiency, this bay is a long cavern framed by reinforced bulkheads and recessed. Tie-downs and anchor pins line the space in a flexible grid, permitting all manner of cargo stored and secured in a variety of transport environments. Several tracks for gantry cranes and multi-purpose support equipment make a lattice across the ceiling, illuminated here and there by high bay lighting fixtures which march down the bay's length, while individually-keyed conduit runs provide the only wash of color. Huge pressure doors allow access from the outside, while a smaller, but no less secure hatchway leads back into the main corridor. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Thu Sep 06 01:12:06 3007 Somewhere in the bay of the Faux is the cage of the Predator. The Demarian slowly begins to stir, his breath coming short for a moment before he sits bolt upright. Rkagar comes in from another part of the ship and starts to peel off green blood covered armor. He gives the Demarian a quick glance then starts to lick the various plates, a vacant look evident in his yellow eyes. If Rkagar looks a mess- and that's undeniable- Aadzrian looks like the aftereffects of a hurricane. There's a new scar on his face, a pink line that curves from his jaw upward to swirl around his eye- visibly unnatural and intentional. But even more immediately noticeable is that blood- red blood and bits of unidentifiable matter, mingling with sloppy green blood that almost looks like it's been painted on his face. He staggers in, staring at Razor in his cage. The dark felinoid looks about in confusion, his eyes and ears doing a quick scan of the new location. His gaze settles on Rkagar first, then Aadzrian. His brow furrows in concern as he looks over both of them. "What has happened?" he asks, his voice strained. "We free." Rkagar hisses lowly and continues to pull off plates of armor and slurps up the Zangali blood. It is obvious that it is not his blood either. The young Zangali doesn't even register the Timonae entering. "Faux camed. Kill everyone. Gived me Darya. T'is are Darya." Aadzrian waves at himself after that oh-so-succinct explanation. "We on Faux. To be goes to Demaria." A slow chuckle builds in his throat, rising sharply. "You sane -now-, you -sane now-..." The ex-noble looks from Rkagar to Aadzrian again and his head lowers somewhat in shame at the Timonae's words, his tail settling limply on the floor. "Who is injurrred?" he asks quietly as his ears collapse on themselves. "Am OK think." Rkagar hisses lowly, getting on all fours to lick the breast plate clean of the blood in relish delight. Aadzrian doesn't seem at all disturbed by Rkagar's newly acquired taste for Zangali blood, or even to notice the blood all over himself. "One man I no knows. I t'ink sayed should be fine," the Timonae informs Razor, still chuckling. "Swift-foot are fine. Stars are fine. T'ey all is to be fine. Ha, we be te hurted..." There is some relief that washes over the massive frame of the non-feral Demarian. "How bad arrre yourrr wounds?" he asks, the simple debriefing tone in his voice trembling a bit. "Am still have broke fight areana." Rkagar explains and slouches down. The armor licked clean and he rips off all his clothing and starts to chant to himself in Zantra. Razorback seems to be awake and aware in his cage, Rkagar naked and chanting to himself in Zantra- what a party, huh? "You wants see?" inquires Aadzrian from where he stands near-ish the door, with something like glee. The blood is all far too dark to be a Timonae's, but he starts to undress as well nonetheless, hands fumbling with the buttons of his vest and then throwing it off carelessly to the bay's floor. Next the sodden, once pristine white shirt, tossed down to join it- and the Timonae stands bare from the waist up. He's still a little bloody, but mostly clean under that clothing and flak, and the scars stand out in grotesquely artistic pink contrast to his brown skin. "Here t'ey is, Razor!" +look aadzrian This Timonae's appearance is strikingly unusual; whereas nature has given him mostly normal qualities for his kind and a symmetrical set of features, life seems to have granted him a good deal of peculiarities. He stands slightly short for a Timonese man at only six and a half feet or so, his body a lean creation of wiry muscle that moves with all the smoothness of a well-oiled machine- over two hundred pounds' worth, shoulders decently broad. His hair is the typical silver shade one might expect, an unkempt if clean and downright fluffy mess that falls past his ears in wild disarray. Many wayward strands find their way into the swirling, opalescent green eyes that gaze out from a brown face dark for even a Timonae. And there is where the curiosities begin- a pink spiral of burn scarring encircles the right eye, drawing a leisurely arc downward, very clearly deliberate. It crosses over prominent cheekbones in a slightly over-hollow face, passing a slightly pointed nose and rather full lips before it terminates at the jaw. A silver tufting of beard clings to his chin, stubble otherwise adorning his face except where the scar slices cleanly through it. His currently shirtless self displays that whatever had happened to his face is far from singular. Though he bears a considerable smattering of all sorts of scars, varying in age and size, the most noticeable is undoubtedly the pink tracery that marks his entire bare chest and arms- and disappears even into the cover of the scuffed, ripped and dark red-stained pants he wears tight on his legs. Those swirls and curliques of burn scarring adorn him with a grotesque artistry, the shining tautness of the flesh making their nature apparent at first glance. Underneath the scars- if one were to look so far- his body claims not a spare pound of excess weight, proportioned in the manner of one whose exercise is more for use instead of aesthetics. The Demarian growls quietly as his head tilts downward. His ears fold tightly into his unkempt mane as his lips curl away from his bloodstained fangs. "I am ssorrrrrry, Aadzrrrian," comes the near-whispered reply as the felinoid regains his composure, apparently still struggling against his constant adversary. Stars moves quietly into the bay, padding softly - yellow eyes on that cage, tail flicking. Rkagar continues to chant away in Zantra. The hisses are low and mournful. If Zangali could cry now would be the instance. Despite his great size the young Zangali tries to curl into self. "Sorry?" Aadzrian laughs, disbelievingly. "You no sorry! You broked your -word- to me! You broked it and you no -cared-! Probably has excuse- oh, I is know you has excuse. So mush excuses. Why sayed sorry now, Razor? Is solved not'ing- is save not'ing." He holds out a hand toward the Demarian, waving it around. "I bets you stil is wanted to eating me more t'an anyone, is no righ'?" The raging battle within Razorback's skull brings him crashing to his knees, Stars' entrance going unnoticed as Aadzrian's words find their mark. Planting his forepaws on the floor, the Demarian weathers the assault in silence. His head remains bowed as he begins to slowly haul himself back to his feet. Stars purrs softly, behind Aadzrian, that low rumble perfectly.. neutral. "Feels good, telling people how they fall down. Doesn't it." He watches Razor - "Sometimes, we fall farrtherr than otherrs. Funny thing is - we can get back up again. Make things differrent. change the worrld, orr just us." Rkagar hisses and starts to claw away at his chest and arms. "No honor..... go away be Zan say." He grunts to himself. Green blood oozes from where his claws rake and dip onto the floor. "Te hells you know about it," snarls Aadzrian as he turns on Stars, hands clenching into tight fists. "Fuck t'at. You was no t'ere. You knowed no damn t'ing. You no watshed." He bends down and snatches up his clothes, absently mopping up the blood they left behind with what little cloth wasn't a mess beforehand, before straightening. "More honor t'an anyones I knowed," he offers in a low voice to Rkagar. "Putted up wit' mush- for us." He takes a last look at Razor, says nothing, and begins to walk for the exit. Razorback's eyes settle on the other Demarian as he speaks, his brow furrowing a bit. He looks away, collapsing down to sit in a corner of the cage, his forehead settling into his paw as he seems to have gained some respite from his inner conflict for the moment. "Aadzrrian." Stars glances to him, watching him go - "Parrty tomorrow. Invitation still stands." Those yellow eyes track back to Razor. "Arre you, you?" Rkagar gets a glance, but most of his attention's on Razor. Rkagar curls up a bit more, everything around him ignored. "No have honor, say friend but kill." He repeats over and over to himself lowly in his broken standard. "T'ey deserving it." With that brusque comment to Rkagar the Timonae disappears, giving Stars only a quick nod before he's out of the cargo hold. He cradles the bloody clothing in his arms, keeping it from dripping, and so no trail is left behind. Category:Classic OtherSpace Logs